A Little Less Conversation
by singingstarryknights
Summary: A Tribute to the Elvis Series. Happy Birthday, Sugah.


A Little Less Conversation

…

A Tribute to the Elvis Series. Happy Birthday, Sugah.

…

"This is different." Sheldon Hawkes paused abruptly at the doorway of the tiny dance studio, eyes widened with a brand of academic wonderment that showcased no previous knowledge. In the hallway, Lindsay Monroe narrowly avoided colliding with him; instead, she gently nudged his arm, coaxing him into the room. Her eyes swept the studio quickly, the hardened edge of a criminalist setting in her features, bypassing the colorful flair hanging on the walls and the telltale signs of competition gleaming on shelves, the brass finish of each trophy polished to a fine mist of sparkle. She squinted against the sunlight flooding the room from the floor-to-floor windows, recognizing Flack's lanky, tired figure looming over their 419, a man's body slumped over in a collapsed position, limbs a jumbled pile beside a torso on its side, facing the heavy heat of the early sunrise. Don Flack spotted them and shifted his weight, turning to give them what he had.

"Vic's name is Paul Dressler, 23. Found dead this morning at 5:30 am by Gina Fiorenelli." Flack waved his hand in the general direction of the back wall, where Det. Scagnetti was trying to take a statement from a curvy brunette who was returning his questions with rapid-fire Italian. Flack spoke again, his eyes remaining on the less than successful inquiry across the room, and the easy flow of the sultry, flaring skirt that seemed to seduce his sight almost unconsciously. He recovered quickly, his attention snapping back to the case at hand. "From what we can get from her, she didn't move the body." Flack and Lindsay watched as Hawkes leaned over the body, finding a small blood pool near the belly, and a stab wound along the right side.

"If this is the original position, blood would have collected in the abdominal cavity. Lividity is set." He paused, taking the camera from Lindsay, documenting the position of Paul Dressler's clothing before moving away the offending articles to assess discoloration.

"My Italian isn't so good." Flack mumbled, catching the pleading, exasperated expression that riddled Scagnetti's features as he spoke to Gina Fiorenelli in broken Italian. "I think we're going to need Danny."

"Mac sent him out on a B&E an hour ago, he should be back in the lab." Lindsay answered automatically, stepping aside for one of Sid's guys, and noticing several blood drops, scattered along the polished wood floor. She held out her hand to stop Flack from treading on them, taking the camera from Hawkes and rummaging around in her kit to find evidence markers. "Watch out."

"I'll catch up with you guys when I get something." Flack carefully avoided the series of blood drops, and made his way across the studio to Scagnetti and the girl, stumbling over Italian phrases slowly.

Lindsay barely acknowledged Hawkes as he told her he was going with the body. She nodded absently, and accepted the keys to the truck as he handed them to her, engrossed completely in the trail of gravitational drops.

………

Don Flack, Jr. crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes at the interrogation before him. On the other side of the glass, he watched Italian fall out of Danny's mouth, his focus devoted to Gina Fiorenelli, seated in front of him, emotional and distraught.

"Appena dicami che cosa è accaduto." Danny slid easily into the chair facing the mirror, placing the open file before him, and sifting through it. "Tell me what happened." She was stunning, really, a traditional brand of alluring charisma that settled heavily in his chest, her thickened accent typical of the brownstones in Brooklyn, making his thoughts stray to Aidan, distracting him.

"Che cosa è accaduto? Paul è guasto, quello è che cosa è accaduto. Trovandosi là, completamente. Qualcuno lo ha ucciso. Guasto. Il Mio Paul." Tears surfaced instantly in Gina's eyes, and Danny waited patiently for the younger woman to calm down, wiping her eyes and smearing the smoke of her make up with such reckless abandon that she could only be telling the truth. "Chi farebbe quello?"

"I should be askin' you. Did Paul have any enemies?" Flack watched Danny's features soften, recognizing the shift in tactics. "Chiunque ha desiderato danneggiarlo, Gina?"

"No, no, nessuno. Paul è un uomo dolce. Un amico gentile. Il socio che migliore abbia mai. Ho entrato nell'studio questa mattina e stava trovandosi sul pavimento. Fa a volte quello, si situa là. Dice che è buono per concentrare. Ho pensato che fosse addormentato. Ho visto l'anima ed ho denominato la polizia." Gina's Italian began to come out faster, her accent stumbling from the familiar Brooklyn to a more rounded, softer one, her phrasing circling into a dialectic loop. Danny bit his lower lip, unable to recognize it as anything but one honed from a childhood in one vineyard or another. No wonder her English was weak.

"All right, okay. Sit tight. Siedasi qui, prenda un alito profondo. Vi otterrò una certa acqua. Tutto che va essere giusto." Danny closed the file, and made to stand, tossing Gina a delicately assembled, easy smile.

Flack hated not doing his own interview. Not that Dan would ever hide any information from him, but he prided himself in his innate ability to see more than just a suspect's words. He couldn't help but feel that he was only going to be privy to part of Ms. Fiorenelli's account, which could possibly set him back in his investigation. Flack unfolded his arms, placing a hand along his belt, and chewed his thumbnail mercilessly. This side of the glass was making him nauseated. Danny stood from the table, glancing quickly at the mirror and jerking his head to the side discreetly, telling Flack he was finished. As he stepped out into the hallway of the precinct, Flack rounded the corner from the observation room determinedly.

"So?"

"Says he was dead when she got there." Danny shrugged. "She came in, thought he was asleep. Apparently the sunlight is really relaxing early in the morning, and your vic liked to, ah, 'center himself' before training. They were entered into a dance competition, few weeks away. She said she didn't move him, saw the blood and called the police."

"Seems to fit. Thanks, man. I'll check it out."

"Anytime." Danny squinted, reading the clock on the far wall of the bullpen. "I got a subpoena hearing, I gotta run. Give her a while to settle down, her English might get better." Flack nodded, turning to observe Gina Fiorenelli through the open shutters of the interrogation window as he pressed number nine on his speed dial.

"Linds, where are we at with the blood drops?"

………

Advanced rigor.

There were few forensic phrases that made Lindsay Monroe's stomach churn, and advanced rigor was near the top of the list.

"Where?" She asked Hawkes, holding her cell phone against her ear, looking around at the dozens of evidence markers identifying blood drops in an array of gravitational directions.

"_Along the whole right side. The tissue around the wound has already started to come out, which means it was in rigor longer."_

"Don't we usually only see that when the vic is holding something at TOD?" Lindsay ran a hand through her hair, letting out a sigh. This complicated everything.

"_Usually. I think that was the case here as well."_ Hawkes leaned over, feeling the stab wound with the gloved precision of a surgeon. "The murder weapon is definitely a BFK, and I think it remained in Paul Dressler's side long enough for rigor to set."

"D'you think our perp returned to the scene?" Lindsay shook her head dismissively at the uniform assigned to accompany her, offering the rookie a small smile as he relaxed again.

"_Probably four to six hours later, to take out the knife. Did you find it at the studio?"_ Hawkes sounded hopeful, but Lindsay shook her head.

"It's not here." She chewed her lip a moment, thinking. "Did Sid confirm TOD?"

"_Round midnight."_

"So Paul Dressler is stabbed fatally at twelve, knife is removed between four and six A.M." The rookie officer watched as Lindsay's whole face lit up, her eyes widening. "The dance partner found the body at 5:30. Flack was on the scene twenty minutes later."

"_She's being interviewed. I'll get Flack to hold her a bit longer."_ Hawkes stood, taking his cell phone off speaker and cradling it against his ear. _"What about the blood drops?"_

"Still working on it." She sighed dejectedly. "They don't make any sense. There's a definite path they follow, but the directionality seems almost random."

"_Maybe he was stabbed in the middle of a number."_ Hawkes frowned. _"I'll get Flack to have the partner write a transcription of the routine. Found a purple fiber. I'll have Adam run it through the GCMS."_

"Do you keep dancing if you've been stabbed?" There was an element of skepticism in Lindsay's voice. Across town, in the quiet morgue, Hawkes shrugged.

"_Dunno. Looks like we're going to need Danny as well, though."_ The rookie officer noted the expression of blatant confusion on Detective Monroe's features, and smirked, amused. Puzzled CSIs, he quickly learned, nearly always meant overtime.

"I won't release the scene then." She flipped her phone shut, and dropped it in her jacket pocket, confusion shifting to determination, and then to irritation as it rang again, shrilly. Recognizing Flack's name on the ID screen, she flipped it back open again, bringing the piece of technology to her ear, sighing.

"Monroe."

………

"So I'm thinking this went down one of two ways." Lindsay thought out loud, glancing around from where she, Hawkes, and Danny stood in the middle of the studio floor, autopsy photos and the transcription of Gina and Paul's routine in hand, respectively.

"Either there was a mobile struggle, or Gina pulled a Mr. and Mrs. Smith in the middle of the routine, and stabbed him." Hawkes figured out loud, frowning at the overall of the body in its original position.

"Mr. Dressler ended up there, on the other side of the room." Hawkes slipped on his glasses, making his way to stand over the spot where the blood pool had been, pointing vaguely across the room, where Marker 37 had been replaced by an indicator dot sticker. He shifted his gaze to Danny, who was still reading through Gina's account of the routine. "Can you do it?" Danny broke into a cocky grin, his eyes flickering to Lindsay for only a split second before turning to Hawkes.

"I think I can manage." He rolled up the transcript, holding it with two hands. "C'mon, Montana, You be Gina, I'll be Paul."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Danny used to take swing lessons." Hawkes called from across the room, where he had started to prepare the pipets they were going to use to try and recreate the blood drops. Lindsay arched an eyebrow questioningly at Danny, daring him to explain.

"Had a girlfriend in college, said we didn't spend enough time together because of baseball. We took up swing. Gave us quality time, which she liked, and kept me in shape in the off season, which I liked." Danny threw her an amused smile, stepping forward and handing Hawkes the transcript, turning back to Lindsay, already calculating the opening steps.

"Are you kidding me?" She repeated, standing back, an incredulous expression smattered across her features.

"C'mon." He held his arms out, ready to take her hand. "I'll tell you where to step." At her less than convinced frown, he stepped forward, wrapping an arm securely around her waist and picking up her hand, his smile softening as she laid a cautious hand along his arm, fingers touching the faded black of his tattoo through the fabric of his shirt. Her skeptical smile turned amused quickly as his attention slid from her to their feet, and a breath caught in his throat.

"Show me what you got, Messer."

Immediately his fingers tightened around the small of her back, and he peppered her ear with words, explaining the first few steps. She couldn't hear him, fighting off the wave of heat that crested over her hips as he pulled the lower half of her body flush with his.

"The routine Gina wrote down calls for backleading, so that will affect the directionality of the drops, but we should be able to get the jist of it." Danny's words were warm in Lindsay's ear, and she felt him smile affectionately. "Jus' follow my lead, Montana." He tightened his grip on her fingers, splaying his free hand along her back. When I step forward, step back, when I step back, step forward. If I'm on my left, you're on your right. If I'm on my right-"

"Left. I get it." She arched an eyebrow at him, watching as his concentration shifted from her to the forensics in the space between a moment.

She followed his lead, taking care to step with the appropriate foot, letting him push and pull, twirl and swing her body around him delicately, pausing every so often so Hawkes could work the pipet, and recreate the blood drops. The only music was the sound of their footfalls, but Lindsay couldn't stop the childish smile from curving her lip as he instructed her through movements and positions, jargon she had never heard tumbling off his lip as if it had been there all along, distorted generously in Staten Island pronunciation.

He twirled her effortlessly, spinning her out of his arms, fingers just short of letting go. She began to curve back in, but he stopped her, stiffening his wrist. She had learned quickly that the control he wielded came from the cues he gave with his hands, and she stopped short, fixing him with a confused expression. She hid the embarrassment from the two men when she realized he had paused for forensic reasons, pointing out an access point to a murder weapon, had the BFK that was currently in the wind been previously located on the cabinet surface just beyond Lindsay's reach. Gina would have been able to close that distance, Hawkes had reasoned, being several inches taller than Lindsay. She let Danny calculate the forensics, nodding in all the right places, and offering Hawkes a reassuring smile.

The control and precision with which he spun her mesmerized her. It wasn't the ease in his footwork, or the pleased surprise she felt as she realized she hadn't a slightest clue that he had ever danced a graceful step in his life. She should have seen it- he was agile and quick, and incredibly balanced when climbing on various parts of the city.

It was over inside a minute. Quickly, they had realized that the blood drops could not have come from the routine Gina had supplied them, and his fingers dropped from her waist as if it was nothing.

"Guess we're looking at a struggle after all. Thanks, Danny." Hawkes groaned, frowning at the markers, his mind adjusting to take into account the elimination of their primary theory.

"Yeah, anytime. I gotta go hover over Adam's shoulder, he's got all my evidence from the B&E." Danny crossed the room, stepping out of Lindsay's personal space, and turning to give them a grin as he picked his jacket off the coat rack. "See you guys back at the lab." He shrugged the leather over his shoulders, and stepped out the door, digging his keys out of his pocket as he went.

"Lindsay? You with me?" Hawkes pulled the thick frames of his glasses off his nose, a knowing smile beginning to form.

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Dance routine out. Moving on."

………

The Dressler case had wrapped with the leisurely speed of the sunset, riding in a suspect on the fiber that had been consistent with the competition costume of one Victor Nuzzo, Gina's jealous ex-partner, desperate to restore the prestige of reigning champion in the upcoming competition. It had taken Flack seven minutes to break Nuzzo, and another five to have a written confession in his hands.

It had all been anticlimactic after the feel of Danny's hand along her back, really.

She made her way to the locker room, already unclipping her gun, ready to hang up the badge and head home to an evening on the couch. She stopped short as she reached to open her locker, noticing a pale yellow post it from Danny's desk stuck to her nameplate, squinting in confusion.

Roof in 5 –D 

She coughed once, hiding her smile before it turned into a grin, dropping her piece in her handbag, along with her badge, and slinging it over her shoulder casually before closing her locker. Lindsay made her way to the door, feigning control over the heat that had swelled subtly in her hips, slipping down the hall and to the elevator, only letting the decidedly feminine smile return when the doors closed, leaving the lab behind.

She maneuvered her way around the rusty access door to the roof, pocketing the post it and stepping out onto the rough cement. The rosy orange light of the late afternoon burned heavily, contrasting the bite of the cooling, unpredictable air of early spring. Not seeing anyone initially, she ventured a few steps further before calling out.

"Danny?"

"Hey, got my message. Good." He flashed her a mischievous grin, waving her over to a space he had cleared on the far side of the roof, behind the access door. "C'mere."

"Why are we on the roof, Dan?"

"Space." He tilted his head to the side, urging her over. "I haven't ben able t'get this outta my head all day. Jus' a coupla minutes, Linds." He held out a hand to her, and she dropped her handbag, leaving it on the cement rooftop, giving him a skeptical look; seeing the beat up boom box from the Trace Lab sitting innocently on the ledge. She took a few hesitant steps, covering a laugh with her hand as he hit play, and a distinct, rhythmic drum fill blasted through the archaic speakers, followed by a guitar riff, piano chords, and an unmistakable voice.

_A Little less conversation, a little more action please_

_All this aggravation ain't satisfactioning me_

_A little more bite and a little less bark_

_A little less fight and a little more spark_

_Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me_

_Satisfy me baby_

"Elvis, Detective?" There was a heavy dose of amusement in her voice, and she stepped easily into his arms, letting him lead, responding keenly as he twirled her before answering.

"You got somethin' against the King?" He spun her around, a genuine grin hanging form his jaw as he pulled her back again.

_Baby close your eyes and listen to the music_

_Drifting through a summer breeze_

_It's a groovy night and I can show you how to use it_

_Come along with me and put your mind at ease_

"No, I like him just fine. Seems a bit odd for you, city boy."

"Man's a genius." Danny pulled her closer, his attention keenly focused on her, rather than their feet. "Some songs are just classics, Montana. Standards." His words were warm against her ear, hoarse and seductive in the wind.

_A Little less conversation, a little more action please_

_All this aggravation ain't satisfactioning me_

_A little more bite and a little less bark_

_A little less fight and a little more spark_

_Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me_

_Satisfy me baby_

"And this is one of them?"

"A'course. One of the greatest songs ever written." He stated, matter-of-factly, brushing a kiss against her temple before twirling her again. "Right up there with 'No Women, No Cry,' and 'In Your Eyes.'" He took hold of her hand expertly, spinning her and directing her, making her fall into step with him easily.

_Come on baby I'm tired of talking_

_Grab your coat and let's start walking_

_Come on, come on_

_Come on, come on_

_Come on, come on_

_Don't procrastinate, don't articulate_

Girl it's getting late, gettin' upset waitin' around 

"Peter Gabriel, Dan? Really?" She shot him a disbelieving look, making to step away, but he pulled her back again, wrapping his arm around the small of her waist, smiling slyly as her arms made their way around his neck, fitting easily on the broad of his shoulders.

"Don't knock it. It's a religious experience. Changes your soul."

"I just wouldn't have guessed."

"I got more than a tattoo up my sleeve." He laughed softly at the look he received, shrugging as Elvis Presley started the last chorus from the tired little boom box. He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a husky, intimate timbre. "Listen to the King, Montana." He twirled her again, casually; pleased as she fell silent, giving attention to the last stanza.

_A Little less conversation, a little more action please_

_All this aggravation ain't satisfactioning me_

_A little more bite and a little less bark_

_A little less fight and a little more spark_

_Close your mouth and open up your heart and baby satisfy me_

_Satisfy me baby_

Danny leaned down as Lindsay pulled him closer, crashing into each other affectionately, the rhythm falling out of their steps as Elvis repeated the last line, tapering off after several seconds. She leaned against him, relaxing into his touch, giving permission and reacting as he deepened their kiss, tasting her sweetly, music forgotten. Her fingers sifted through his hair at the base of his neck, curving down to cup his jaw, her breath hitching as she felt his hands feel the curve of her sides ardently, holding her flush against him.

She broke away, her need for air finally getting the best of her. There was a flash of worry behind his lenses, and she smiled kindly, dissipating it instantly. He tightened his grip on her, leaning down to press a companionable kiss to her hair before taking her hand and kissing the heel of her palm as well, slowly. Lindsay's features sobered as the cool city breeze off the Hudson shifted the air around them.

They'd argue, years later, over who kissed who first. Suddenly, they were playing for keeps.

"You want to go grab some dinner?" Her words were quiet, shy, almost, and he smiled warmly. He nodded, leaning down, catching her lips with his own, addicted to the feel of her, the taste of her, the heat she caused. After a few moments, he broke away, mumbling an affirmative into her kiss.

"Yeah, I could eat."

…………

A/N: While this fic is part of the First Kiss Series, it pays homage to 'The Elvis Series' by Sugah, in honor of her 25th birthday. **Happy Birthday, Sugah!** Song is, obviously, 'A Little Less Coversation,' written by Mac Davis and Billy Strange for the film Live A Little, Love A Little (1968), and was originally performed by Elvis Presley. It's my favorite Elvis song. If you haven't read 'The Elvis Series,' please check it out!


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